Her Second-Chance Family. Holly Jacobs

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СКАЧАТЬ that. She’s only twelve years older than me. I doubt they’d let anyone else take in a foster kid so close to their own age, but she decided I was hers and...well, like I said, when she decides something, it happens. She wanted me and now I’m hers, like it or not.”

      The girl seemed clearly confused at the thought of anyone wanting her that much.

      “And she’s a hippie,” he stated. He was surprised to hear a teenager referencing hippies.

      She nodded. “Oh, yeah. Really, keep your distance or you’ll be...”

      “Eating quinoa.”

      She laughed. “Yes.”

      Willow turned and started toward the car again, but Sawyer called out, “Hey, what’s her name?”

      “Oh, yeah, I forgot.” She ran back over to him, pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket. “That’s her name, my name—not that you don’t remember me—our address and both our phone numbers. And there’s my social worker and my juvenile probation officer. She says I’m not supposed to be doing it to impress my probation officer, and that unless he asks, I shouldn’t say anything about making restitution like this. She says that doing things for show is shallow. You do the right thing because it’s right, not for glory or recognition. She says that you can call my probation guy if you want, but I’m not supposed to look for credit for doing what’s right.”

      “She says a lot of things,” Sawyer said.

      Willow sighed, but he thought he detected a slight smile behind her put-upon expression. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” the girl assured him. “I swear, I almost wish she’d smack me when I screw up. It would be fast and over much more quickly.” She obviously spoke from experience and Sawyer found himself angry at the thought of anyone hitting the girl.

      “But no, not her,” Willow continued. “She just looks disappointed and then starts talking. Pretty soon I’m doing what she wants just to get her to shut up.”

      Sawyer was intrigued by this foster mom who was only twelve years older than the teen at his door.

      “I told her that someday I’m going to write a book filled with all the things she says,” Willow continued. “She just laughed and said she’d come to my book signing. She’s always happy and smiling and believing that everyone is better than they really are. Except at night.”

      “What happens at night?” he asked, but Willow was gone. She was getting in the car with... He glanced at the paper she’d handed him. Audrey Smith.

      It looked as though he was going to have to cancel his lawn service, then he was going to look up quinoa on the net.

      * * *

      AUDREY SAT IN the car while Willow talked to Sawyer Williams.

      Watching the man was a pleasure. Really, it was absolutely pure pleasure.

      He was tall, but not too tall. She was sure he checked the box next to brown when asked what color his hair was, but she wasn’t sure that was an adequate description. It was the sort of brown that probably turned lighter in the summer, and darkened to almost black in the winter. It was on its way to lightening up now.

      She wondered what he’d look like if he smiled.

      She’d driven Willow here weekly and had hurt for the girl every time the man slammed the door in her face.

      But for whatever reason, today was different. Sawyer Williams was talking to Willow. Not just threatening to call the cops, but talking.

      Willow was heading toward the car when she suddenly turned around and handed Sawyer a card before she walked toward Audrey.

      “How’d it go?” Audrey asked as Willow slid in beside her.

      “Well, I had to threaten him...”

      “Willow.”

      Willow laughed. “With quinoa. Well, quinoa and you. Anyway, he finally agreed. Reluctantly.”

      Audrey couldn’t help but grin. She knew that Willow probably wouldn’t see Sawyer agreeing to let her work for free all summer as a victory, but it was. The girl had set her mind to a goal and she’d achieved it. As far as Audrey could tell, there hadn’t been very many victories in Willow’s life.

      “That’s great, Willow.”

      “Says the woman who’s not going to spend her summer mowing a huge lawn for nothing.”

      Audrey’s smile faded. “Not for nothing.”

      She knew how guilt could eat at someone. Even if it was guilt over circumstances that weren’t entirely your fault. She didn’t want that for Willow. And the juvenile court system’s slap on the wrist wasn’t enough to assuage Willow’s guilt. But a summer of sweating under the hot sun, doing something tangible for Sawyer...that might.

      “No, not for nothing,” Willow admitted.

      Audrey’s smile was firmly back in place as she announced, “Well, this calls for a celebration. School’s officially over. You’ve accomplished your goal.”

      “Your goal,” Willow sniped.

      Audrey glanced at her. The merest hint of a smile was playing at the edges of Willow’s scowl.

      Audrey took that as a good sign. “Hey, no matter who set the goal, it’s been met, so we’re celebrating.”

      “You all look for reasons to celebrate,” Willow groused. After a pause, she added, “What do you have in mind?”

      “I know just the thing,” Audrey assured her.

      “Quinoa salad?” Willow teased.

      Again, Audrey felt encouraged. Maybe she was finally reaching Willow. She wanted to. She’d been doing everything she could think of since the day the teenager walked into her house.

      “Something even better,” she assured Willow. “Yeah, I know it’s hard to believe there’s anything better, but this might qualify. We’ll do dinner at home, then head out.”

      They drove the five minutes back to her house and found Maggie May waiting at the front door when they pulled in.

      “So how did it go?” she called as Audrey and Willow got out of the car.

      When Audrey had bought her house in Wesleyville—a borough between the city of Erie and the Harborcreek home they’d just come from—she’d thought the small house with the big yard had everything she needed. She’d slowly renovated and rehabbed the house until it had everything she wanted, as well.

      But it turned out the small house had one huge bonus that no real estate agent could have known about. It had come with Maggie Mayberry as a next-door neighbor.

      Maggie May, as the kids called her, was somewhere south of sixty and widowed. She had watched the kids during summer vacations since they’d moved in. Over the past few years Maggie had become more than a neighbor; she’d become family.

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